


Assholes Anonymous

by sburbanite



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholics Anonymous, Alternate Universe - Human, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Humanstuck, Jade passed away before the start of this fic, M/M, Physical Abuse, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 15:59:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6085939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sburbanite/pseuds/sburbanite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave's wife is gone, and his heart is empty. Naturally, he spends six months filling the hole with alcohol. </p><p>Eventually, fate, his sister and a court-order all conspire to bully him into starting to heal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm not an alcoholic, I've never been to an AA meeting. Any advice given (especially by Karkat) may be absolute bullshit - if so, please correct me and I'll adjust the dialogue.

"Ready?" Rose inquires, her eyebrow raised. It's half question, half challenge. Dave doesn't really have a choice. 

"Hell no. But I guess I'm going in anyway, or you'll march my ass in for me." 

Rose gives him a forced smile, the tightlipped grimace that Dave has seen too often over the past few months. Her knuckles are white where her hands grip the steering wheel. 

"Of course. I'll pick you up in an hour," her voice softens as she clasps Dave's hand. "Afterward, we can go and get ice cream and dissect the flaws inherent in the program. It won’t be so bad, I promise." 

Dave returns her smile, grateful that his shades hide the film of moisture forming in his eyes. He gives her hand a squeeze before getting out of the car. It's time to enter Hell on Earth and take his place amongst the damned. Dave snorts with amusement at Rose’s influence on his inner monologue. It's just a fucking AA meeting, after all. How bad can it be? 

Pretty bad, as it turns out. The church-hall smells of dust and disinfectant, and the sad little circle of folding chairs is adrift in an expanse of brown, hairy carpet tiles. Time apparently stopped here in the mid 1980's, if the Formica table groaning beneath the weight of plates of biscuits, polystyrene cups and a gargantuan coffee urn is anything to go by. To Dave's keen eye, it looks big enough to caffeinate an entire exchange-worth of stockbrokers, with some left over for the pool of secretaries in sexy glasses. Addiction is a powerful thing, after all. 

Scanning the room, Dave realizes he's the first one here. Goddamn it, Rose. He sends some creative mental curses her way, hoping that she’ll tread in gum or break a nail to punish her for making him stand around like a complete tool. He’s not sure whether she chose to drop him off early for some pseudo-altruistic reason or because she knows he prefers being stylishly late. Either way, now he’s trapped in a limbo filled with bad coffee and awkward silence. The group leader smiles at him a few times, trying to be welcoming, but Dave is in no mood for social interaction. 

He’s too busy hating himself for wishing the coffee in his hand was whiskey and hating Rose with a burning passion for all of her unasked-for fraternal sympathy. It's selfish, and he knows it. Rose only wants to halt his downward spiral into darkness, even if he no longer cares. He has to keep reminding himself that she lost someone too. The only difference is that she managed to cope without getting drunk every night. It’s so hard and so easy to hate someone who handles the loss of her best friend with such serene, silent grief. 

Avoiding the circle of chairs for now, Dave takes a cookie from the cling-wrapped plate next to the urn and stands awkwardly off to one side with a headphone blasting drum and bass into one ear. As arrivals begin to trickle in, he reluctantly takes a seat between a straight-backed young woman and a bald guy with worry-lines criss-crossing his face. The girl doesn’t acknowledge him but the guy smiles and nods, the gesture surprisingly warm and genuine. Trying to welcome the new face, no doubt. Dave can't face calling himself a new member, not yet, even if he has no choice but to be here. It feels too much like an admission of failure. Dave returns the man's nod without smiling. It’s nothing personal; severe depression and a lifetime of trying to look cool tend to have that effect. 

The Group Leader announces that his name is Paul, and he's been sober for fifteen years. He smiles as he describes his week, refusing champagne at a company picnic and generally living the whitebread middle-class dream, albeit sans-alcohol. It would be impossible to locate Dave’s sympathy for him with an electron microscope. When he's done, it's time for new members to introduce themselves. Dave waits, hoping he isn’t the only new inmate in the circle of forced smiles and compulsive coffee sipping. Just as he’s about to stand, a short guy with messy black hair gets to his feet instead. 

"I’m Karkat. I'm an alcoholic. It's been two months since my last drink, thank fuck." 

He sits down abruptly, a scowl forming in his face. It looks at home there. The Leader frowns at the profanity, before looking pointedly at Dave. Suddenly it’s his turn in the spotlight. The temptation to make a joke or say something stupid is overwhelming, but Dave knows it wouldn't be worth it. 

"Hi…Dave Strider, at your service. I'm an alcoholic too. Got a certificate and everything. Uh...five days sober." 

Dave sits down, feeling like the world's biggest idiot. No-one says anything, but he can feel the burn of sympathetic gazes. It's too soon for him to be here, he told Rose that. He wanted to feel at least half put-together before he came to one of these things. As it is, he’s a hollow shell, watching everyone speak up about the trivial shit they're dealing with while knowing their last drink was years in the past. Their lives are back on track, his is in ruins. Dave spends the rest of the meeting twiddling the ring on his left hand, staring at his shoes through dark glasses. 

The meeting ends with a mumbled sort of prayer. Dave recalls vaguely that there’s something in the literature about accepting a higher power, nestled amongst all of the sponsorship and apologising to loved ones. That’s going to be a problem, since Dave’s already questionable faith evaporated on the day that his wife closed her eyes for the last time, her boundless energy sapped away by the cancer consuming her brain. His heart is empty. There’s no room in him for God. 

On the way out, the Leader taps Dave gently on the shoulder and asks if they’ll see him again. He shakes his head, before clarifying that he’s not dropping out of the program. It’s nice that the guy is concerned but if he sticks around in Providence any longer, he’s going to murder his sister in cold blood and blame it on a wave of vampirism. Dave deadpans the words, watching the confusion on the guy’s earnest little Christian face. Somewhere behind him, someone snorts with amusement as the Leader hurries off to start folding away the chairs. The snorter turns out to be the grumpy guy, and Dave grins when he realizes the Leader hasn’t asked _him_ if he’ll be coming back. 

Turning to face him, Dave attempts a smile. He should probably talk to at least one person, and he’s got five minutes before Rose picks him up. 

“That’s what you get for swearing in church, man. If that guy’s shoulder was any colder you could keep your six-pack cool on him.” 

Grumpy raises an eyebrow, and Dave remembers where he is. Why they’re both here. 

“Of coke or some shit, obviously. Not beer.” 

That gets a sort-of smile, the half-acknowledgement of something in common. Dave can dig a dark sense of humor any day. 

“I’m Karkat, I can tell from that blank expression that you’ve already forgotten. I always hate that the first thing they make you do at an Alcoholic’s _Anonymous_ meeting is fucking introduce yourself. I’m guessing from the fact that you’re only five days clean and are planning to take your sister out behind the woodshed and put a bullet in her brain that you’re relying on the 'kindness' of family right now?” 

Dave shrugs, nodding. The guy’s got it pretty spot-on. Karkat takes a deep breath before he continues, and Dave recognizes the telltale signs of an oncoming monologue. 

“Firstly, this is way too early for you to be here. Go home, get some fucking sleep, and have your sister sit on you until you don’t spend every waking second fantasizing about heading out to the local mini-mart and buying as much beer as you can carry. Secondly, as soon as that happens, get your ass into your own space. You need to learn to handle this on your own without being watched all the fucking time, and getting shitty at your relatives when they’re trying to help just leaves you with more mess to clean up afterwards. Thirdly…It does get easier.” 

Karkat sighs, brushing some of that shaggy black hair out of his eyes. He’s a passionate speaker for someone addressing a complete stranger. 

“I know I said two months, but before I relapsed it was three years. If someone as fucked up as me can manage that, you should be fine.” 

Dave nods again, a little lost for words. Karkat fidgets where he stands, suddenly looking embarrassed by the tide of unsolicited advice he just loosed over Dave. 

“Thanks, man. That helps.” He tries his best to sound sincere. 

Karkat returns the awkward nod, before doing the customary “it was nice to meet you but now I have to go” shuffle toward the door. On the way past, he squeezes Dave’s shoulder. 

“See you never, Strider. Good luck.” 

Dave’s eyes follow him out. The meeting might have been a waste of time, but it was cool to meet someone like Karkat. Ever since Jade died, everyone has spoken to him as if he’ll shatter if they talk too loud or criticize him. It might have been one-sided, awkward and stilted, but talking to Karkat was the first real conversation he’s had in months. 

As he makes his way out past displays of screamingly cheerful leaflets, Dave actually does feel a little better.


	2. Chapter 2

The leaves are turning brown in Providence by the time Dave starts to feel suffocated by his sister’s warm hugs and apartment filled with cats and cushions. It’s been two months, 11 days and 13 hours since his last drink, and he’s been back to sit silently in the dusty church twice more. The others still look at him sympathetically, waiting for him to speak, but he doesn’t. He can’t. As much as the State of Massachusetts seems to believe that this will save him, Dave has doubts the size of the planet Jupiter. Karkat doesn’t come back, and Dave wonders idly what happened to him. 

Wherever he went, Dave hopes it’s better than here, where the grind of daily life seems to have sucked the colour out of everyone present. The second time he shows up, Dave wears a lime-green backwards-baseball-cap and the hoodie Jade bought him for his last birthday, the red one with rainbow-coloured birds all over it. The sweater is a beautiful slow-motion fashion car-crash, one of his favourites, and it’s the first time he’s worn it since she died. Although it’s painful to think of, Dave can picture her giggling at the image of him sitting on his folding chair like a bird of paradise among pigeons. 

The shaking and sweating have finally stopped, save for when he wakes in the middle of the night and feels unconsciously for Jade. The empty space in his bed and his heart would send him running into the welcoming arms of alcohol again, were it not for the fact that Kanaya stashed all of their fancy liqueurs at a neighbour’s apartment. He’s glad, because right now he still feels weak. His surrogate coping mechanism is probably less than healthy, but he doesn’t care. It’s all he can think to do when he misses her so much it feels like it’s tearing his chest open. 

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering gardenGnostic [GG] 

TG: hey  
TG: i cant sleep again   
TG: no prizes for guessing why huh   
TG: still   
TG: havent had a drink in two months now which is good   
TG: and i dont feel like im having a whole body hangover twenty four seven any more  
TG: not that youd understand harley  
TG: you were always such a goddamned lightweight   
TG: the amount i was drinking would have made you vomit up all of your organs in a big gross viscera fountain  
TG: course then youd have to get your microscope out and start examining them and brag about how healthy your fuckin liver is cus you hardly ever drank  
TG: all ‘daaaamn dave look at my lungs they are sexy as hell, you can tell i didnt used to smoke in college unlike some people’  
TG: babe its not my fault i have DJ lung  
TG: you take your life in your hands when you lay down the sickest beats in town like i used to  
TG: die young and leave a beautiful corpse huh  
TG: sorry   
TG: if you can read this i bet that was super offensive  
TG: dont hate me for being deadist jade   
TG: dead people are not a legit minority  
TG: probably not a minority at all actually   
TG: were all gonna end up dead after all  
TG: goddamn im morbid at two in the morning  
TG: if you were here youd hit me with a fuckin pillow and tell me to cheer the fuck up  
TG: and then id kiss you until i couldnt breathe even though i have gross morning breath and youd kick me in the shins and hold me and wed go back to sleep  
TG: i miss you  
TG: i miss you so much  
TG: i wonder if ill ever not   
TG: i dont want to not miss you  
TG: but man my chest hurts like you took a piece of me with you when you left  
TG: take good care of it for me ok  
TG: i dunno what im saying  
TG: just tired i guess  
TG: anyway g night  
TG: i love you   


turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering gardenGnostic [GG] 

There’s a message from Rose in another window when he closes down the conversation, and Dave wonders whether Rose has some sort of alert set to wake her if he’s online late at night. Or maybe she can’t sleep either, just as lost as he is in the darkness. 

tentacleTherapist [TT]  began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

TT: Go to sleep, Dave. You’ll feel better in the morning.

tentacleTherapist [TT]  ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

It’s the same thing she tells him every night, as she kisses him on the forehead and leaves him sitting in front of the TV, trying to avoid the emptiness of his bed. He can’t honestly say he feels it yet, but dreamless sleep takes him soon after. 

When Dave wakes up to the sound of Kanaya singing as she washes the breakfast dishes and a mountain of furry bodies piled on his chest, he knows it’s time to leave. Rose’s place is safe and warm and filled with love, but it’s too much, too painful. Jade still surrounds him here, in the trinkets she brought back from her gap year, before she and Dave got together. She’s there in the beads and rugs and the framed picture of them both in the hallway, posing in front of a volcano as if they’re about to fall in. She’s everywhere and nowhere and it hurts. 

Rose and Kanaya have a life to get on with, and Dave needs to let them. 

John arrives early next morning in his pickup, with a grin on his face and a stupid wifebeater on his chest. They hug-bump in the street outside the apartment building, ignoring the stares from passers-by, and Dave smiles faintly as John messes up his hair and sticks a ‘kick me’ sign to his back. Dave moves it to the fender of John’s truck immediately and surreptitiously, although one more dent to the sky-blue paint will hardly make a difference. And besides, this is a nice neighbourhood. The local kids don’t go around kicking cars, even if they’re instructed to by mysterious signs. 

Packing Dave’s meagre belongings up doesn’t take long, although Rose insists John stay for dinner, and the hours blur in domestic warmth as they eat lentil soup and chicken salad around the kitchen table, making idle chit-chat as if one of their group isn’t gone forever. As if there isn’t a hole where she should be, like the dark socket of an empty tooth in an otherwise perfect smile. When it’s time to leave, Rose and Kanaya hug them both so tightly it hurts, and Dave waits in the car while Rose and John have a ‘little chat’. 

He knows what they’re talking about. Rose is telling John not to leave Dave alone at night, that he needs to phone his parole officer as soon as he gets to Boston to let them know he’s back in-state, and that he needs to find an AA group to attend at least once per month so that his slips can be signed. Just your standard Sister-to-Cousin-in-law transfer of the daily Dave-care duties. Six months of being the family fuck-up is starting to grate on his nerves, but with John, Dave always feels like less of a human disaster. He stares out of the window at the sky, watching the gulls circling on the breeze, until John pulls himself up into the Driver’s seat. 

“OK, bro!” he yells, over the sound of him revving the ancient engine, “Dave Strider, are you ready for a fucking road trip? Because let me tell you, I am ready to blow this popsicle stand!” 

Dave laughs as John rolls down the window and pops a home-made copy of the Con-air soundtrack into the tape deck. His best friend might be a complete doofus, but right now, he’s exactly what Dave needs. 

“It’s an hour and a half to Boston, you nerd,” he replies, grinning uncontrollably, “but yeah. Punch it, Egbert. Take us home.” 

They drive the whole way with the music turned up loud, and Dave almost has to grab the wheel when John starts crying midway through his bellowed rendition of ‘How Do I Live’. As road trips go, he's been on worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about all of the sad. 
> 
> Dead-friend pesterlog idea [ shamelessly stolen (with permission) from this masterpiece by Sharkskin](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1171110)


	3. Chapter 3

Dave wakes up wondering where he is and listening to the sound of a shower running. His feet are cold because the small-ass futon isn’t long enough for him and the tiny room he’s in is decorated with framed movie posters. _John’s apartment_ , his brain supplies, _it has to be, because there is no-one else on the face of the Earth who would decorate his guest-room with Howie Mandel’s grotesque blue face._

He yawns loudly as he gets up, shuffling to the kitchen just as John wanders out of the bathroom. They do an awkward little dance in the hallway as John tries to get past Dave and into his room, all while trying to avoid dropping his towel. Even with a brain fogged with sleep, Dave is still sharp enough to keep John on his toes and block him casually for a good fifteen seconds. Eventually, John grins and pushes Dave against the wall with one arm, shoving his way past. Continuing his zombie-like progress toward the holy breakfast waiting in the kitchen area, Dave notes idly that John seems to have been working out. He also has a line of hickeys on his chest that would make a teenager blush, but Dave isn’t about to ask about that so early in the morning. It’s only 10.30am, for Christ’s sake. Dave is barely a human before noon.

Coffee helps. Sweet, delicious caffeine from John’s expensive machine and three heaped teaspoons of sugar help take the edge off of both the tiredness and the cravings. An Irish coffee would be even better, mind you.

“Hey, assbutt, you ate the last of the Froot Loops.”

Dave raises his bowl in a rainbow salute as a damp John wearing blue sweats plonks down onto the sofa.

“Sorry, dude. You know I’m attracted to bright colours like an over-caffeinated toddler in Toys R Us. There's plenty of wheaties left.”

“Gee, thanks, what a great friend you are,” he sighs as he wraps an arm around Dave, pulling him closer. “It’s good to have you back, bud.”

“Am I back?” Dave asks, one eyebrow raised. He isn’t so sure.

“Yeah, I think so. You’re a lot better, anyway.”

“Cool.”

“So…what are your plans?”

Dave busies himself with the dregs of his cereal as the silence stretches out. John squirms a little, mindful of the fact that Dave buried his plans for the future on the day that John buried his favorite cousin. But, he reasons, life goes on, and Jade wouldn’t have wanted Dave to mope around all day.

“I mean, there’s a lot to do around Boston, I mean, you know that, and I’ve got a few days off work so we can do some fun activities or something…”

John trails off as Dave makes eye contact over his shades, his mouth set in a thin, grim line.

“Are you asking me out, John? Have you been waiting in the wings all these years to make a move on me, because I have to say, dude, that’s pretty cold. I mean I know I’m a hot piece of Texan ass, but…”

Dave’s poker face shatters as John shoves him off the end of the couch, sending the cereal bowl flying and coloured milk splashing across the floor.

John grins, nudging Dave’s back with his foot as he mops it up with a paper towel.

“You’re an ass, alright.”

Dave returns the smile. Getting used to smiling again is strange, but no-one in their right mind could be miserable around John. He’s like sunshine in a bottle, a breath of fresh air. Jade was the same; the entire Egbert-Harley family tree seems to be watered by a never-ending wellspring of exuberance, and Dave has always loved being close to them.

In the end, they spend the day doing touristy bullshit, wandering the halls of the Fine Art Museum and loudly discussing the non-existent phallic imagery inherent in landscapes and portraits, followed by gawking at the strange fish in the aquarium. John insists on eating ice-cream in the park despite the chill in the air, so they shiver their way through a waffle-cone of rocky road before heading home. In the evening, they eat at the tiny Italian restaurant down the street and Dave nearly dies laughing at John's face when the waitress lights the candle on their table with a sly wink.

The following day is spent playing Halo in a blanket fort, eating pizza and drinking soda, because what's the point of being an adult with your own apartment if you can't make a goddamn blanket fort every now and then?

Dave hadn't realised quite how much he'd missed John during his time away from Boston, and it's a shock to find just how much better he feels just by being around him.  The kid (because Dave can't think of him as anything else, even as they slip ungracefully into their late twenties) has been there for most of his life, on the end of a chat window or sharing a shitty apartment or picking him up after DJ sets in his crummy car, and it's a relief to find that while everything else in Dave's life has fallen apart, his friendship with John is unchanged. It's a window into the past, a beacon of hope for the future.

_____

Bro-time can't last forever, though, and John has to go back to work before one of his employees decides it would be fun not to let people out of the "Haunted Mansion" trap room. The girl he's left in charge, Terezi, thinks it's hilarious to tell people there's no way out and leave them to sweat among the plastic ghosts and ghouls if she hears them being assholes over the intercom. While John admits it's hilarious to watch Dudebro morons losing their shit at the jump-scares, it isn't good for business. Dave gets up to make him coffee before he leaves, the special blend of milk, sugar and the tiniest hint of actual beans that John prefers. True to his Strider heritage, Dave finds it easiest to thank John for all that he's done without words.

With John gone, Dave's mood comes crashing down. He's alone again. These days he always seems to be alone, even when he's with other people. It isn't like that with John, with Rose or Kanaya, but the other people on the streets and in the coffee shops he wanders through might as well be in a different dimension. Everything is muffled, like he's underwater, and Dave begins to wonder if its possible to drown in loneliness, in being lost. Without John's energy, Rose's snark or Kanaya's warmth to power him, Dave feels like an empty shell, like a puppet with its strings cut. He shudders as memories of a childhood spent barricaded in his room come flooding back.

"Strider?"

The voice brings him back to the surface, and Dave finds himself staring at a cold Americano in a bijou coffee shop. The voice is oddly familiar, but Dave can't place it. He knows it instantly when the voice's owner settles himself down into the seat opposite.

"Karkat?"

It seems incredible, like a hallucination. Why the hell would a guy he met once, months ago, even remember him?

"Yeah, that's right. How the fuck do you remember that? I only recognised you because of the stupid douchebag shades you're wearing. I haven't seen another asshole wearing sunglasses indoors since the late 90's."

Dave realizes he should reply, but he doesn't know what to say. Karkat’s frown deepens as Dave continues to fail to respond.

"Are you OK?" He asks, his voice shifting from incredulous to concerned.

"Sure," Dave replies. It's a lie. Evidently, it's an obvious one.

"Bullshit. You're crying, idiot." The tone is gentle, even if the words aren't.

Shit. Fuck. Dave touches his face, feels the warm wetness of tears he didn't give his body permission to shed. Karkat hands him a napkin, and it should be awkward as fuck to be crying in front of a stranger, but for some reason it isn't. Dave is surprised to find he's more comfortable making an ass out of himself in front of Karkat than John or Rose. It's the way Karkat is looking at him, he realizes. Not wracked with worry and pity, but as if he actually understands.

"My wife died." Dave offers, from nowhere.  It's the only thing he can think of to say.

Karkat’s eyes widen a little, but his face remains locked in an impassive frown. Other people have almost physically recoiled when Dave has told them, suddenly afraid to talk to him in case their words make them seem insensitive or unfeeling. He doesn't exactly blame them, it's hard to know how to respond to "the only person I've ever loved is dead". Recently-dead wives tend to be a conversation-killer. Karkat doesn't seem to care about that.

"Shit," he replies, softly, handing Dave another napkin. "That fucking sucks. I'm sorry that happened to you."

"Yeah." It does suck. There's nothing else to say on the matter. At some point during the exchange, though, Dave's tears seem to have dried up.

Karkat sips his latte, and they fall into companionable silence until a loud growling sound erupts from Dave's stomach.

"When did you last eat anything, Strider?"

Karkat raises an eyebrow at Dave's shrug. Breakfast, he thinks. Those Froot Loops were a long time ago.

"Yeah, that's not going to cut it. You need to eat, it doesn't matter how depressed you are. Let's go."

Dave moves like a ghost as Karkat ushers him out of the cafe and into the street. He's shocked to find that the sun is dipping down behind the roofline of the buildings, and the whole street is in shadow. Late afternoon, then, although obviously not late enough for John to be home yet if customers are bustling in and out of the shops.

He lets Karkat lead him somewhere, anywhere, not even caring that he's only spoken to him twice. Speaking to anyone, even a total stranger, is better than slipping back into the cold, numb depths of solitude.


End file.
